


Save Me

by readstoescape



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Eventual Comfort, Frustrated Castiel, Guilty Dean, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Protective Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, sam starts to understand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:08:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4557078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readstoescape/pseuds/readstoescape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This AU follows immediately after the Purge (S 9 ep 13) the 'discussion' in the kitchen and Sam's "no Dean, I wouldn't"</p><p>I just could not wrap my head around Dean just letting that go with no reaction and no follow up from either of the boys.....</p><p>So, our story picks up there and then heads off on a different Road.....</p><p>(pairing as yet undecided -  will be Destiel or Dean/Sam (or both) - haven't worked out where the road is taking them yet....)</p><p>(edited 8/15 for spelling (I keep typing Can, instead of Cain, sorry - all fixed now)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** Save Me **

‘No Dean, I wouldn’t.’ Sam breathed ‘Same circumstances, I wouldn’t’

Those words echoed through Dean’s head as Sam left the kitchen. Dean’s breath hitched a moment before his heart restarted. First the bit about them not being brothers anymore, the ‘honesty’ and now this.

Dean took a breath and ran a hand over his face. ‘Right’ he rasped, ‘right.’

What the hell had he been thinking? Of course Sam wouldn’t have stopped him shutting the gates. God. If Dean had done the trials and shut it down, Sam’d have been set up with the bunker, running Men of Letters, safe and at peace. With Kevin.

Sure, he’d be dealing with the angels’ fall and all since Cas’ mess had happened at the same time, but they hadn’t known that then and the Bunker was secure. He’d have been fine. Sam could direct a whole network of hunters from here, safe and surrounded by books.

Dean had screwed up so many times, cost Sam, and so many others, so much. He should have done the trials himself, he’d _known that_. Dammit.

Dean took a breath and heard another echo in his mind ‘don’t go thinking that’s the problem, cuz it’s not’ Sam had tried to tell him on that bridge. It wasn’t just that Dean was poison, Sam had known that for years. Apparently it was also Dean’s so called ‘need’ not to be alone. Sam was sick of it. Especially now. Since he thought that was why Dean had let Gadreel in. Of course he was, who needs a needy leech hanging on all the time?

Not the least one who keeps getting everyone around you killed. Jessica had not been Dean’s fault. Hell, he’d never known the girl, and Sam could kick himself until the end of time for not being there and protecting her, but truth? If he had been there he couldn’t have stopped it. Not back then. Dean was pretty sure Sam knew that by now. But Dad? That was totally on Dean. Ash? On Dean. Ellen and Jo? Yep. Bobby? Mmm-hmm. And Sarah? Well, that one could be a fifty fifty split maybe. But Kevin? One hundred percent, Dean.

‘what’s the upside of me being alive?’ How could Sam even ask that? And he KNEW Dean wasn’t good with words, his ‘you and me, together, fighting the good fight’ meant so much more than just that.

Dean shook his head. Sam just did not seem to understand why Dean couldn’t watch him die. That first time, at Cold Oaks, Dean had thought that was the worst thing he’d ever live through. And it had been bad, he’d been so lost. A part of him had die with Sam, and even though he’d got Sam back, that part had never really healed.

But then, to watch Sammy fall into that pit, KNOWING what he was going to face there and that Dean couldn’t do anything to stop it? To help? He’d had nightmares for months, and hated himself still to this day for not at least going with him if he couldn’t have gone for him. At least maybe he’d have been able to deflect some of the torture away from Sam if he’d jumped in too.

When he’d come back to that church, so close to being too late, seeing Sam so close to gone, it’d torn something in Dean. He’d realized then, as though he didn’t know it deep down already, He would let the whole world go to hell if it meant he could keep Sam safe.

That was the biggest reason the angel dicks would never have got him to say yes. Telling him he’d have to fight Sam to the death? And with an option where he couldn’t choose to let the death be his own instead, Because Sam was being controlled by the devil….? That he’d have to KILL Sam? Fuck no.

If the world was ending and the only way to save it was to lose Sam, well then they’d just have to go out with it. He wasn’t ever going to live through that again, not willingly.

Sam had thought he had something to prove to Dean, when he’d started those damn trials. Had thought he had to show Dean he could stick through something when he’d taken the trials on himself. Somehow, for some unknown reason, Sam had thought he was somehow a disappointment to Dean. Thought that he had to prove himself.

Man, how had things got so fucked up between them that Sammy didn’t _know_ how proud Dean was of him? How incredible Dean thought he was. Maybe it was that Dean just couldn’t say things right. Couldn’t seem to find the right words to get Sam to see.

Dean’d told Sammy more than once he was the smartest guy he knew. How did Sam not know how amazing Dean thought he was, how strong he’d been to overcome so much.... Fuck, Dean had told Sam before they’d started the trials that he needed Sam safe, that Sam safe and happy was his happy ending.

But then Sam had fed Dean that bullshit line about ‘you’re a genius’ whatever, so he could start the trials himself instead and show Dean he could do it.

But, they hadn’t known then, the rest of the trials, or the cost.

Well, not officially, Dean had known, he’d _known dammit._ He’d tried to tell Sammy, how it would turn out! But, still, nothing had been actually confirmed yet, so they hadn’t known. Not really.

If they HAD Dean sure as hell wouldn’t have let Sammy do that spell in the first place. He shoulda gone after another hell hound right off. But no, he’d been unable to resist those damn puppy eyes, and Sam’s ‘trust me Dean’ and ‘I can do this Dean’ like when was little and learning to make his own koolaid or mac and cheese…. When he was learning to shoot, when he was learning to hunt….

Well, he knew the score now, and Dean had a couple of advantages Sam hadn’t. He knew all the steps, he could plan everything out ahead. And he had this Mark. He could feel it’s power working on him, making him stronger, a better fighter. He slept little, if at all, he was stronger, faster, had more endurance. This thing would power him up, like a battery pack, help him get through what he had to do. He wouldn’t have to worry about ganking Abaddon if he shut the gates. Let her and Crowley kill each other behind closed doors.

He could do the trials. Take Hell off the board, and himself out of Sam’s hair in one move. ‘Same circumstances’ Sam had said. Dean would do this and close up Hell for good.

The angels were a pain, but Cas cold get a handle on that, and he’d keep Sam safe in that fight. Besides, it was mostly Dean they all had issues with anyway, ‘corrupting Cas’. Sam had paid his dues that year in Hell, no one had called him an abomination in a long time.

If Dean could shut down Hell, take all the demonic forces out of the picture, Sam could handle the – hah! – ‘natural’ supernatural cases. Well, first things first.

Taking a deep breath, Dean shook himself. Shook off the numbness from that conversation and made his way to his room. He looked around a minute, considering, then opened his laptop. He sync’d his phone and began to download all his contacts, photos, and notes into a folder on the laptop.

While that processed, the grabbed his ‘go to’ duffle from the closet and shifted thru it. He added another box of salt, the hellhound glasses from his dresser and the sawed off from the wall.

The computer beeped at him to let him know the transfer was done and he disconnected the phone. He dialed his voicemail and recorded a new message: ‘don’t bother to leave a message. I’m getting a new phone. Send me an email, I’ll get back to you when I can’ He pulled the SD card from the phone, did a factory reset, and laid it on the nightstand. He’d get another one soon enough.

His gaze caught on the two pictures there, him and mom with baby Sam, and him and Sam laughing by the impala. He looked at them each a moment, then turned away. He had pics of both in the computer. These would be safer here. Sam could have ‘em.

Dean slid the laptop into his backpack along with a few pairs of jeans, couple shirts and some underthings, and shouldered the bag. He shoved another pair of sneakers into the end pocket of the duffle, hitched it up over the other shoulder, and quietly closed the door.

He made his way to the garage quietly. He could hear Sam’s light snores as he passed his doorway, and it was like wading through molasses for those few steps it took to get out of hearing range, but he kept moving.

He stood looking over Baby for a minute, then opened the trunk. He pulled out the three newest credit cards from the box, grabbed a couple of his favorite IDs, his rolled spell kit, the devil’s trap cuffs and a couple vials of dead man’s blood – never could be too careful - and fitted it all into the duffle.

He walked to the driver’s door and pulled out his keys. He closed his eyes, running his hand over the top of the doorframe and down the side of the windshield. He took one last deep breath then laid the keys in the driver seat. ‘Sorry Baby’ He whispered, then turned and walked out of the bunker without looking back.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

0000 2

 

Dean made his way along the roadway toward town until a semi, slowing for the speed trap area, grew close. He waved the guy down and was able to hitch a ride into the town. The driver dropped him at the greyhound station and Dean approached the ATM. He pulled the cash limit for each of the three cards, thinking hard.

Trials one and three were simple enough, but two gave him some worry. Finding out about Bobby had been almost too easy, almost like they’d been getting some divine help or something. But he couldn’t be the only innocent locked up. Lots of people made stupid deals for good reasons. Like that Evan Hudson guy, who’d dealed to save his wife, or Ellie for her mom’s Parkinson’s.

But those were harder to track down, They didn’t suddenly get rich like the Cassitys or get super talented like that architect, Sean Boyden. He’d have to research for miracles where someone connected suddenly dies 10 year later. A pain, but not impossible.

No, the hard part would be the purgatory back door. He couldn’t count on a coyote like before. Crowley was onto that scheme and word would get back to him. No, he’d have to find his own way over…. He knew where the portal was, but he wasn’t sure if it would open both ways. Something to think on.

Dean pocketed the cash and cards and made his way to the ticket counter. It was almost 1 in the morning. It was a 10 hour bus ride to Chicago, so he’d get there right about the time the local car lots would be opening up. He could grab a cheap ride there, something to get him to the portal area in Maine, and figure things out in a bit more detail during the ride. Easy enough for Sammy to trace the ticket to Chicago, but unless he caught on right off, Dean’d be long gone before Sammy got to that point.

He had almost 45 minute to kill before the bus left, so Dean went to check out the travel shop. Amazingly, they carried portable hard drives. Guy said people’s computers got busted all the time on long bus trips, especially people traveling with kids. They’d started promoting the portables to travelers so at least data and pictures didn’t get lost.

Dean got a coffee and settled himself. He started transferring the data from the laptop to the portable and while that ran, he logged in thru the wi-fi to his email. He’d have to get a ghost account set up for his email. He considered renegade67, but Sam knew too well his penchant for classic rock handles. Hmmm. He smiled and typed in dogcatcher67@email

He logged in to his real account, ramblingman67@email and set it to auto forward everything, then set dogcatcher67email to send messages titled from ramblinman67. Sam thought Dean was tech challenged, and Dean catered to that belief. Let Sammy do the computer stuff and research. He liked it and it made him happy to track down some obscure whatever, and Dean got out of doing it.

But, Dean had spent a lot of time with Frank, working on the bastard Dick Roman, and Frank was a downer. Conversation with Frank sucked unless he was ‘imparting his wisdoms’. So Dean let him impart away. He bestowed lots of tricks on Dean, more than just that bit with the surveillance cameras, and more than Sam knew.

Sammy wouldn’t think to check if ramblinman67 was forwarding, not at first anyway, if at all. He’d just assume Dean wasn’t checking his emails.

The laptop dinged to signal the transfer complete and Dean disconnected the portable. He shoved the hard drive in the inner pocket of the backpack and closed the laptop. He’d do a restore of the hard drive on the bus ride and ditch the laptop at the first pawn shop he found. Maybe Sam’d be caught on some wild goose chase tracing it if someone bought it quick enough.

They called for passengers and Dean found a window seat. He shoved the duffle under his seat and settled the backpack on his lap, with the laptop on top.

Four hours later the bus pulled into St. Louis. The laptop was wiped, and Dean was bored. He had a 45 minute break here while they gassed up and loaded passengers and he got out to stretch his legs, and maybe grab a paper; or (God forbid) a book….

Wandering around the depot he was surprised, and happy, to see a cell phone kiosk. He bought one of the disposables and prepaid for two months service. He hit the john, then bought a coffee and made his way back to the bus, breaking the three credit cards into small pieces and ditching a few pieces in each trash can he came across as he went.

Settling back into his seat, Dean began to research miracle cures. He figured if he could track down an innocent deal maker, then he could have that info ready. He could find a way to get a hellhound easy enough. Dean swallowed a bit at the thought, but grit his teeth and told himself to grow a pair and get on with it.

He could always call a crossroads demon. With the mark, courtesy of Crowley and his schemes, they were more likely to answer his call now, and he could probably get one to produce a hound in exchange for freedom they wouldn’t get. Maybe even a way in the back door, or at least a map. He had the cuffs and some handy dandy well decorated duct tape.

He could stash the demon near the portal to wait for him, gank a hellhound, slip into hell and free the soul, then grab the stashee for the cure ritual. They’d even thank him in the end. Hah!

There was a hunting shack near the portal area, at least there had been. He’d seen it last time he’d been there, when he’d been waiting for Sammy and Benny. At least it wasn’t winter right now. Man, that’d suck, winter in Maine.

Anyway, first things first. Get to Chicago, buy a ride and move on to Maine. Dean knew he was oversimplifying things, but at least he had a plan. He settled back into his research for the ride.

Finally, they pulled into Chicago. Dean was stiff, sore and cranky by now. He’d run out of coffee and even if he barely slept since he’d taken the Mark, he was feeling it. He made his way straight to the bright, beautiful Biggerson’s he could see on the corner. He wasn’t really hungry, hardly ever was anymore, but man did the coffee smell good. He forced himself to eat a small breakfast, two eggs, some toast, and some OJ. He got a tall black coffee to go and with directions from the waitress made his way to the closest car lot.

Dean scowled as he looked over the choices. Damn, he missed Baby already. He sighed and slid into the blue El Camino; the only ride likely to have any kind of decent (and wasn’t THAT a relative term) horsepower. Well, at least with the bed he could always have a place to stretch out to crash. He made a mental note to grab a sleeping bag and bedroll, haggled with the dealer a bit, then drove off the lot.

First stop was a pawn shop two blocks over. He ditched the laptop and made a show of needing some tools. The guy pointed him toward another shop further down, but Dean kept going. On the way out of town he stopped at a different shop. He picked up a halfway decent laptop there, a mini generator, a tent and a chainsaw and some other tools in case he got stuck roughing it up there in the woods for too long. He made one more stop at the grocer where he stocked up on protein bars and water bottles and set out toward Maine.

 

0000

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

0000 3

 

Sam woke later than usual that morning, which was odd. Lately Dean hadn’t been sleeping in and his morning coffee or workout music would generally wake Sam if he wasn’t up on his own already. It was close to 9 and all was quiet. No coffee smell either. Maybe Dean had finally caught a solid 8 hours. Or he was sulking somewhere or had taken off for a ride.

Whatever. Sam shrugged and made his way to the kitchen. Yep, pot was cold. Well, he’d make some coffee, then he’d see. Sam poured two mugs and knocked lightly on Dean’s door in case he actually was sleeping for a change. When there was no answer, Sam let himself in. No Dean.

His cell sat on the nightstand though, so he was in the bunker somewhere, probably the garage.

Sam sighed and went back to the kitchen. He drank his coffee and made himself an omelet. After, he settled himself at the library table. He’d been looking a bit into trying to find out more about this Mark Dean had taken on. It was just like Dean to plunge head first into something with no clue what was waiting.

Sam shook his head. Sure, they needed to stop Abaddon, but if this Cain had the Mark already to give to Dean he could have killed her himself. Especially if she’d killed his wife like Dean said. Dean hadn’t even tried to talk the guy into it, he’d just volunteered. Let Crowley of all people give him advice, and let Cain give HIM the mark. Didn’t ask any questions, didn’t wait to know more about any cost, no – just ‘OK let’s do this’

Sam huffed, ‘I oughta get him a t-shirt with that on it’

He opened the next book in the stack je was working on, then stopped and stared. Curse of Cain. Right there, second page in this book. Sam scooted forward and started to read:  


**STUDY OF THE CURSE OF CAIN**

Cain was marked with a curse after the murder of his younger brother, that came to be known as the Curse of Cain, or the Mark of Cain. The circumstances of the murder are unclear. There are conflicting reports. But that is irrelevant in any case. The HOW maters not, the CONSEQUENCE is all. The curse mark altered Cain. This is undisputed.

The development is reported that Cain murdered his brother, and upon his death Cain was cursed, marked him so all would know of his deed. It appears that the Mark applied to Cain was transferred to him from Lucifer, whom God had so Marked and cast out of Heaven.

Some report that Cain, overtaken with remorse and anger, took his life shortly after the burial of his brother, only to arise, changed into something other than human. Some reports insist he became a demon at that time. These reports conflict with rumor and other information and were not able to be confirmed or disputed.

It is however, widely documented that after the application of the curse, Cain was known to have made his way away from his remaining family, making war wherever he went. His temper was legendary, and he grew to tolerate no dissension or dispute. His will was law.

His agitation grew between battles until it became clear he was driven, NEEDED to fight, to kill. He found peace only with the satiation of blood and death. His anger grew more volatile and explosive. He soon lost all semblance of compassion.

However, there is one account of an especially bloody battle between Cain’s forces and possibly two other kingdoms. Cain was said to have been seen kneeling over a slight, blonde young man. The soldier writing the account insists Cain was heard to remark ‘brother, I had to. It was the only way.’ He was reported to weep for a time, whispering ‘you’re safe now, safe.’

Finally, he rose and walked away, reentering the battle fiercely. He seemed to take no notice of the observing soldier.

Cain fought harder, with more ferocity after the respite, and when the battle ended he left the field without speaking to anyone.

Cain went on to conquer the entire region with increasing fervor, killing women, children, even beasts without distinction.

After the region was won, Cain turned over the leadership of his army to one of his warchiefs, essentially establishing the man as king. Then, Cain dropped from all record.

Over time, with information, delved from investigation with hell’s minions, it appears that Cain was involved in wars around the world, especially the more bloody wars. There was rumor of his involvement even in the American Civil War, but this information has not been substantiated. There are no reports of any activity rumored or documented, of Cain following that time frame.

It is widely held that Cain perished some thirty years after the time of his brother’s death, shortly after the battle described above. Legend has that upon his death, the Curse or Mark caused Cain’s soul to be consumed and he became demonic, continuing to wage war on Hell’s behalf in that capacity.

Whether this was to have occurred at the time of his rumored suicide, or following the death after the battle is irrelevant. All evidence, and indeed all gathered intelligence through summoning and consulting with the minions of Hell and others, does concur that whether at the beginning or following the thirty years of battle, Cain became a demon.

          Through multiple exorcisms and other means, lore has been gathered with the following matters substantiated by multiple encounters:

1)    Cain is widely known among the denizens of Hell as a ‘Knight’ or warleader.

 

2)    He is universally feared or respected (it is difficult to distinguish between these when dealing with such creatures)

 

3)    Although no one admits to having seen Cain since approximately 1860, it appears to be widely held that he is now immortal. As long as he bears the curse mark.

 

4)    There appears to be no known way to remove the mark short of divine intervention. While Hell’s minions are reluctant, they will eventually acknowledge the existence of God and His angels. Under questioning only God and the archangels are recognized as able to alter or possibly remove the curse mark.

 

5)    As of the time of this writing, no angel has fully confirmed the lore surrounding the mark. We have not communicated with any archangels. However, even contact with occasional infantry angels has yielded no definitive results. One high ranking angel soldier, Ezekiel by name, made mention that he understood the Mark may be transferrable from Cain to another soul. Though he could give no example of an instance where this might occur, nor would he speculate on how it could be accomplished. Though he did stress that should this ever occur the mark would either consume the soul instantly – transferring it into something wholly evil; or, should the soul resist the transformation, the Mark itself would begin to deteriorate. Although this deterioration would not stop the degradation of the soul so marked, but merely delay it. He would not elaborate further and we were unable to contact him again.

 

If Cain were to somehow transfer the Mark, one must assume its lethality were diminished. Lucifer was an angel. Chiefest of angels. Cain was originally human, but it is certain that the humans of that time were stronger, healthier, longer lived; generally super human by the standards we now know. His transference of the Mark to Cain altered Cain, thus his transformation into the demon Knight. Should the Mark be transferred to a human of today? Once can only imagine how swiftly the mark would degrade, if not instantly. And the damage inflicted upon the soul so marked? Devastating.

 

No. as far as can be determined., the Mark is irreversible, and likely non transferrable. If Cain remains it must be assumed he continues to hold high rank among the army of Hell and continues to bear the mark.

 

   -Men of Letters

 

 

Sam sat back, slowly closing the book. He’d known Dean seemed different, but…. He took a deep breath. Dean could have been killed, instantly. Or _transformed_ into something horrible. And he’d never even asked about what might happen. Dammit! He’d not hesitated, just trusted Cain and CROWLEY of all people, and jumped right in. Well, he knew Dean was different, sharper tempered but… fuck.

 

There was a whole lot of negative conjecture here, but no help. Sure, now he knew more than he had about what the Mark could do, but nothing to help remove it, or to help Dean.

 

Sam quickly rose with the book. He didn’t want Dean getting an eyeful of anything telling him he was irreversibly going to turn evil He _wasn’t_.

 

Dean was stronger, than anyone knew. Stubborn, pushy, determined, a pain in the ass and way too impulsive, but also _good_. More good than anyone knew. Definitely more than Dean himself knew.

 

Dean already thought he was a bad person. Worthless, expendable, and lately poisonous. No way was Sam letting him see this. Sam slid the book into the bookshelf in his bedroom next to his Sherlock Holmes collection. Dean would never even look at the books on that shelf, let alone consider that a Men of Letters text was there.

 

No, Sam didn’t want Dean to see this book. But maybe Cas would know something, or could read something between the lines. And Sam had caught that reference to Ezekiel. Maybe Cas would be happy to know Ezekiel had worked with the Men of Letters before. Sam sat on his bed and dialed Cas.

 

‘Hello Sam.’ Cas answered.

 

‘Cas’ Sam sighed ‘Any chance you can come by sometime soon? I found something in the library I’d like to get your perspective on.’

 

‘Of course Sam.’ Cas replied. ‘I can be there today in fact. I am in Nebraska. I thought there was a case here, but it turned out to be just a misguided human. I have explained to him his error and he has repented.’

 

‘uh… okaaay.’ Sam replied. ‘good. That’s… good. I think’ he huffed a little laugh. ‘anyway, yeah. I actually found a reference in the Men of Letters library about the Mark.’

 

‘Really?’ Cas sounded surprised. ‘I must say, your Men of Letters were much more accomplished than I’d imagined. I would very much like to see what you have found. How is Dean?’

 

Sam sighed, ‘Dean is…. I dunno, he’s Dean. We… talked, last night. Kinda.’ Sam’s mind flashed on the memory of last night and the look on Dean’s face as he’d torn into him. Especially that quick flash he’d caught as he’d turned away to leave.

 

Sam sighed ‘We talked but it wasn’t exactly…. Pleasant. I told Dean some hard truths, pointed out some stuff he didn’t want to face. And you know Dean. He doesn’t like to hear what he doesn’t like. He’s sulking somewhere today, I haven’t talked to him this morning’

 

‘Sam.’ Cas’ voice was resigned. ‘I know you are unhappy with some of Dean’s recent choices but-‘

 

‘yeah’ Sam interrupted, ‘you could say that. Look, it doesn’t matter. What’s done can’t be undone, we just have to move on from here. Look I’ll see you later today, you can check on Dean yourself then. Ok?’

 

Cas sighed, almost quietly enough that Sam missed it. ‘Of course. Yes. I will be there in approximately three hours then. Goodbye’

 

Sam huffed a breath, slipping his cell into his pocket. ‘right’

 

He shook his head and shut his door behind him. He went back to the library, but didn’t feel like reading anymore. He started in on his cataloguing he’d been working on.

 

0000

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

0000 4

 

Sam was startled out his ‘zone’ by his phone’s ringtone. He fumbled the thing out of his pocket and was surprised to notice the time. Had it been three hours already? ‘hey Cas.’ He answered, putting down the book he was working on and heading to the door. He must have been really zoned out, and he hadn’t heard a peep from Dean all day.

 

Making his way to open the door for Cas he realized it was way past lunch time. He’d usually smell Dean’s cooking, or at least hear him messing around in the kitchen. The man seem unable to be in the kitchen without turning on the radio that sat on the counter by the light switch. Even, lately, with Dean eating less than normal, (Sam had noticed that actually) he’d still always make a lunch and dinner for Sam when they were both home: a salad, some soup, sandwiches, something. And the radio seemed to be completely habit: light switch, radio.

 

But today, no music, no burgers aroma. Huh.

 

He let Cas in with a tight smile. Whatever.If Dean wanted to sulk that was his problem.  He was supposedly an adult.

 

‘Hey Cas’ Sam greeted Cas with a quick one arm hug and shut the door.

 

‘Sam’ Cas replied, ‘you seem well’

 

‘Yeah.’ Sam answered, ‘I’m feeling really good actually, thanks’  Sam led the way to the kitchen. Dean may have decided he wasn’t eating but Sam was hungry.

 

‘I am glad, Sam’ Cas leaned against the counter watching Sam make a salad.  

 

‘So,’ Sam said, ‘what do you now Cas, about this Mark Dean has taken on?’

 

Cas sighed, ‘The Mark of Cain is a very volatile thing Sam’ he cautioned, ‘I was honestly surprised to feel it on Dean and then to realize what it was. I was not aware Cain could transfer the Mark from himself to another. I would have expected if he had tried that the recipient would be consumed by it. Consider, Cain bore the Mark for thousands of years. To transfer such a long borne curse onto another, especially to an essentially infant soul.... For Dean to withstand the effects, and for him to retain HIMSELF as well. Not to be overwhelmed by it even now... Well. I knew the strength of Dean’s soul of course, but he is stronger, more grounded that even I had imagined.’  Cas shook his head looking grim.

 

Sam swallowed, feeling a dread growing more pronounced with Cas’ perspective after having read the entry earlier.  ‘well, since he has resisted it, or whatever, then he must be okay, right? I mean, not being consumed. Dean said the mark is supposed to make him strong enough to fight and kill Abaddon. He didn’t say anything about it changing him. He didn’t mention Cain or Crowley,’ Sam growled a bit on that name and shook his head, ‘neither of them said anything  about the mark consuming Dean or changing him.’

 

‘oh’ Cas sneered, actually sneered, ‘yes. And of course, Dean would be _entirely_  forthcoming if either of them had told him of such a cost. And of course, Dean would not have proceeded if such had been made clear to him.’ Cas shook his head.  ‘you know Sam, that even if Cain did Dean the mark would allow him to kill Abaddon, but would take his life in payment, that Dean would consider such as no sacrifice. Especially now.’

 

Cas crossed his arms and pinned Sam with an intense look ‘there is a darkness in Dean since Kevin’s death that greatly concerns me. His disdain for his own worth has always been there, but it has grown so much more pronounced.  I believe it is because Dean would likely repeat the possession of Gadreel, even knowing the cost of Kevin’s life and your anger. And that self knowledge, knowing he would do so even aware of the cost rather than allowing your death both confirms himself and causes him to hate himself all the more.’

 

Sam recalled the conversation from last night again, Dean’s casual ‘I’d do it again’ took on a whole new level of significance. ‘I’d do it again’ meaning not just stop the trials, and try to find a way to heal Sam, but ‘it’ – all of it. Dean WOULD do it again, allow Gadreel in, even knowing he would kill Kevin, even knowing the battle Sam would have to wage for his own soul. If Dean knew the outcome would be Sam heatlhy and whole, safe here at the bunker, the he would do it all again. Dammit.

 

Sam ran a hand over his face and dropped onto the bench.  ‘dammit Cas, I know he would’ he sighed and started on his salad. ‘save Sam, protect Sam. It’s like his whole life purpose. I tried to get thru to him last night that it’s not ok to sacrifice everything, anything, just to keep me with him, but I don’t think it made any impact. He flat told me he’d do it again.’

 

Cas nodded and sat across from Sam. ‘he would Sam. He would hate himself, does hate himself, for it, but he would let the world burn Sam, if it meant you would be safe. It doesn’t mean he sees you as not strong, or unable to protect yourself. It only means he cannot deliberately allow harm to come to you if he can stop it.  It’s not just that he doesn’t want to see you harmed, but that he cannot let you be harmed if he can prevent it. You are all that Dean truly loves in this world. He cares for others: Charlie, Ben and Lisa, he cares for them a great deal. I have grown to understand he even cares for me. But he would sacrifice all  if it would save you. You are a part of Dean Sam.’

 

Cas sat back, ‘it is not, as you seem to believe, because of your father’s direction to protect you, though that became a part of it. But Dean has loved you since before your birth. As you grew and he cared for you after your mother’s death, watched you develop, that love has only grown. I have seen Dean’s memories Sam, felt his thoughts. When I rebuilt Dean after Hell, and before he taught me to respect his space and thoughts, Dean’s soul was bared to me. His memories of you in his life are part of who he is. You gave him a purpose when he had none, more than once.  You have also given him the most desire not to. Your death at Cold Oak was the darkest moment in Dean’s life, even replacing his worst memory of the first time he struck out at you.’

 

Seeing the look of confusion that came over Sam, Cas elaborated. ‘ you were ill. You were almost 4 years old and had become very sick while Dean was caring for you, losing the contents of your stomach several times over two days. Dean had cleaned you and the bedding and was helping you climb into the bed when you suddenly grew ill again.  

 

Tired, frustrated and frightened, Dean lashed out, yelling at you and throwing up his hands as he turned away from you on the bed. Of course, ill and afraid you began to cry. But even in your misery, you reached for him with open arms, crying his name as you sobbed. Even as he stood there radiating with tension, and almost anger, you begged him to comfort you.

 

Dean cried himself as he cleaned you and the bedding again. He tried to call your father again as his concern grew for you, but of course John did not answer, not then. Dean was able to get you to drink the sports drink, and obviously you recovered, but that memory has always remained with Dean.  

 

Of course you were ill other times. And Dean grew to tease and mock you even as he cared for you, but it is that time, that first time he cared for you alone; and in his mind, hurt you while doing so, that is imprinted in his soul. That was his darkest memory of you until Cold Oak, and then your sacrifice.’

 

Sam was speechless letting himself imagine what Cas described. He being almost 4 meant Dean was only 7 or 8. Severn years old, left along to care for a three year old, who then got sick. My God. It was scary enough to see a child ill, weak, throwing up and scared. But to be the only one taking care of a 3 year old at only 7?  

 

Sometimes, as much as Sam loved and missed John, there were times he wanted nothing more than to punch the man. Sam sat there for a bit, thinking about Dean when he thought Sam was sick. His ‘nursing’ couched in insults. Sam let himself recall times he could remember Dean hovering.

 

Then he thought of that night that Dean had said was his first memory in Heaven. Dean had described it as’ the night we set the field on fire.’  But that wouldn’t be Heaven. No, Sam let himself remember before the fire. The fireworks. Hoe excited he’d been, how indulgent Dean was. Then, how scared and protective Dean grew when the fire started.  The panic, not at the consequences of getting caught,  or burning the field, but for what might happen to Sam because of something Dean had done.

  
Dean had almost been incapacitated by the thought of Sam being hurt by the smoke or fire. Then later, facing Dad’s wrath, Dean had taken all of John’s anger. He hadn’t even realized at the time, but remembering now, Dean had directed all of Dad’s frustration to himself.

 

Then, there were Dean’s reactions to the Flagstaff memory and the Stanford Night in Sam’s Heaven.

 

Sam dropped his head into his hands. It wasn’t Dean not being able to be alone. Not exactly. It was Dean being unable to be without Sam. And now, Sam began to realize it wasn’t even really that. It was more that if Sam wasn’t with him, that meant not being able to know Sam was OK, that he couldn’t be sure Sam was safe.

 

Since finding the bunker, Dean’s hovering had grown so much less. His comments before they set out on the trials, abut Sam being safe here, being a Man of Letters, happy with books. Dean felt Sam was protected by the bunker. It began to make more sense. And a dread began to grow stronger in Sam as the silence from Dean all day began to take on new meaning.

Even sulking, even with his not eating much lately, Dean would have had coffee.

  
Sam stood suddenly, a look of wide eyed urgency coming over him, ‘Cas!’ he gasped

 

‘Sam?’ Cas stood, alarmed. ‘What’s wrong?’

 

‘Dammit Cas’ Sam snapped, ‘I didn’t even think!’  He hurried down the hallway.

 

‘What Sam?’ Cas asked sharply from behind him. ‘What has happened?’

 

Sam barreled into Dean’s rom and stopped, looking around. Dean’s cell sat on the nightstand as he’d noticed this morning. But the room seemed...... off. He slowly looked around. The closet was open slightly and as he grew closer he could see Dean’s duffle was gone.

 

Sam turned to the bedside table and grabbed the cell. When he pressed the button to wake it, he knew. It opened to the ‘welcome’ screen.The phone had been reset.

 

Sam sat slowly on the bed with a sigh. ‘dammit Dean’ he muttered.

 

‘Sam’ Cas said firmly ‘what has happened?’

 

Sam took a moment to look around, noted the missing laptop. A shotgun gone from the rack. He sat the phone down and turned to Cas. ‘Dean’s gone Cas. He’s gone.’

 

0000

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

0000 5

 

‘Gone’ Cas repeated, ‘I take it you are not referring to a case.’ He looked intently at Sam.

 

‘No,’ Sam sighed. ‘Not a case. I mean **gone**. He’s left.’ Sam rubbed his forehead remembering again, last night. ‘And after last night, I don’t think he’s coming back.’

 

‘You mentioned before that you’d talked last night. It seems there was more to it.’ Cas commented, head tilted.

 

Sam huffed. ‘I told Dean he only brought me back so he wouldn’t be alone, and…..’

 

Sam trailed off, unable to look at Cas as he recalled again, Dean’s ‘… if it was me, you’d do the same thing.’ Dean had been so _confident_. Like it was just a given, no question. Then Sam’s answer, ‘No Dean. I wouldn’t. Same circumstances, I wouldn’t.’ The dawning look of ‘of course’ the resignation on Dean’s face as Sam spoke his piece. Then the last look he’d glimpsed from the corner of his eye as he’d turned away. At the time, Sam had been angry frustrated. He hadn’t even thought of turning back, but later, in his room – when that look had flashed through his mind again as he’d drifted off to sleep….. He’d wished he’d turned back around, tried again to explain things to Dean. But he knew, even if he had, Dean’s mask would have been firmly in back in place.

 

He let himself recall the morphing of Dean’s expressions. From resignation to that lost look as Sam turned and walked away. The lost look tugged at Sam, made him want to fix it, to hug him, even though he knew Dean’d never allow it. But honestly? The resignation tore at this heart more. As he let himself remember that look, he could almost hear Dean’s voice ‘Well of course not Sammy. I told you I was a grunt. I shoulda done the trials all along.”

 

Sam froze. Oh hell. Oh…..

 

‘Sam?’ Cas prodded, ‘And what?’

 

Sam didn’t want to tell Cas this part. He really didn’t’ He spoke on auto pilot, but in the background his mind was working furiously. ‘Dean said if it’d been reversed, I would have done the same thing.’

 

Cas nodded absently, an 'yeah yeah' kind of thing, and that caught Sam’s attention, stalling his thoughts. He went on, looking at Cas now, instead of over his shoulder. ‘But I told him no. Sam circumstances, no, I wouldn’t have.’

 

Cas’ eyes widened briefly, then narrowed. ‘What?’ He asked flatly.

 

Sam sighed. ‘I told him no. I wouldn’t’ve.’

 

Cas actually looked shocked a moment. Then he flashed to confused, then frustrated. ‘you told Dean that if his death was for the greater good, that of course you would not stop him.’ He paused, ‘And in the same telling implied that, if it _had_ been stopped, and he were dying, you would not take _any_ measure, any recourse to heal him. But instead would let Death take him. Truly.’

 

Cas took a step forward. ‘I know you are angry Sam. About Gadreel, about Dean leaving, about Kevin. But angry or not, you have to know in your heart this is not true. Dean is your soulmate. Your only family in this world. You cannot honestly believe you would stand aside willingly and watch him die. Again.’

 

Sam was surprised by the kick in the gut feeling that hit him as Cas said it. He gasped at the feeling and Cas went on. ‘how? How Sam, could you even speak such, having _lived through it?_ You have watched him die already. How can you have pushed that loss aside. I understand you have been through much. That you are tired, you have suffered and are frustrated. But how can you have experienced that loss and consider that you could willingly, proactively, do so again?’

 

Cas turned away from Sam, back stiff as he went on ‘And to **_tell Dean_** that you felt this way?’ Cas leaned against the wall, both hands flattened, head hanging down. ‘you told Dean –‘ he cut off abruptly and took a breath.

 

Sam heard Cas speaking, but only as background noise. His mind had stilled at the ‘watched him die.’ The memories flooding back: of Dean’s last look at Sam as the hellhounds tore into him, then his desperate fight and cries of pain as they’d eaten into him. Then flashes of the worst of the loop of Tuesday Gabriel had put him through, over and over, watching Dean die. Yeah, Sam had been numbed to it, he’d thought, until Dean’s ravaged body had lain there, shredded, bloody real….with his cries echoing over and over in Sam’s mind.

 

He let himself remember Dean’s panic when he’d seen Sam stabbed at Cold Oak. And Dean’s voice over and over as he’d told Sam in that field, ‘I’m here Sammy. I’m here…’ ready to die, to suffer, only to make sure Sam would know he was there, with him. That he was not alone. Dean’s panic in that church as he’d yelled, ‘Sammy! Stop!’ as Sam was about to complete the last trial.

 

Cas’ voice filled the room as he went on. ‘you told Dean, whose worst nightmare, even with all the nightmares he endures, is to be held helplessly standing by while you are hurt or dying. You told Dean you are accepting of his death, and would do nothing to stop it. AND that you believe the only reason he saved you is so he would not have to be alone.’

 

Cas stood against the wall for another few seconds, then straightened. He took two deep breaths before turning to face Sam. He didn’t look angry as Sam had expected, or sad, or disgusted. He looked blank. Controlled so rigidly he had no expression. ‘Sam’ he nodded and made to leave the room.

 

Sam stood abruptly. ‘Wait! Cas.’ He started. But Cas shook his head as he continued down the hallway. ‘Cas, wait. I think I can figure out where he’s gone.’

 

Cas slowed, then stopped. Without turning, he asked ‘Why does that matter Sam? Do you intend to go after him? For what purpose?’ He turned and now, now the anger blazed from his eyes. ‘Why now? Have you recalled his worth to you? Now, after convincing him that he was right in his belief that he is unworthy of you, that he has fulfilled his value in this life. Now you want to go after him? Leave him alone. He’s left you to the Men of Letters legacy. Let him finally find his way on his own.' He started walking again.

 

‘No, Cas! Wait!’ Sam lunged forward and caught Cas’ arm. Only to find himself pinned against the wall, facing a livid Castiel. Cas didn’t let his warrior angel side out often, but he was damn intimidating when the did.

 

‘Cas!’ Sam gasped quickly ‘I think he’s gonna try to finish the trials himself!’ Cas searched Sam’s face a moment, then stepped back. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘Why? Why do you think that?’

 

‘Cas. It’s the way Dean thinks. I told him-‘ Sam rasped and had to swallow. ‘I told him I wouldn’t stop him He’s thinking ‘why try to fight and kill Abaddon' if he can just close up hell. And now he knows the trials in advance. He can plan it out, strategize, like we couldn’t do the first time around. I’m telling you, I know Dean.’

 

Cas raised an eyebrow, then scowled ‘You know him. And yet-‘

 

‘I know.’ Sam cut him off. ‘Look, I was mad and hurt. Obviously, I said things I shouldn’t have. But I am telling you, I _know Dean._ This is what he’ll do. I’m sure of it. And look, I lowjacked the Impala so at least I could find him if he ran off again. I can turn it on and we can go talk to him.’

 

Cas looked at him a long moment, then took another step back. ‘Very well. Let’s at least see where he has gone. Then we will talk further.’

 

‘Good’ Sam said, running his hands through his hair. ‘Good. Come on, my laptop’s in my room.’ He blinked and froze. ‘My room!’ he gasped and swung around. ‘Cas!’ he said. ‘The book!’

 

‘Book?’ Cas looked confused. ‘What bo-? Oh.’ He cut himself off ‘Right. The Men of Letters book you found that referenced the Mark. Yes, I would like to see that as well.’

 

They made their way to Sam’s room. Sam gave the book to Cas to look over as he booted up the computer. He glanced at Cas as he waited for the lowjack program to load. He watched Cas as he read. Impassive, that blank non expression back on his face.

 

The computer pinged to indicate the program was ready and Sam entered the information for the Impala to see where Dean had gone to.

 

‘What?’ he said aloud, surprised, ‘What the hell?’

 

‘What Sam?’ Cas asked, closing the book and walking over to the desk.

 

‘The lowjack says the Impala is here.’

 

Cas tilted his head, ‘So Dean has not yet left?’

 

‘I don’t know.’ Sam said slowly ‘Maybe he found the lowjack thing and took it out or something.’ Sam didn’t even believe that. He stood and led the way to the garage, then stopped.

 

‘What?’ he breathed. He glanced at Cas, then walked over to the Impala. He knew, just knew Dean was gone. The phone, the missing duffle, but would he really leave his Baby? Maybe he was still getting things together and somehow Sam had just missed him in the bunker.

 

Sam walked over and looked in the window to see if Dean had stashed his duffle yet or not, then he stilled. ‘no’ he whispered. His hand shook as he reached in the driver’s window and lifted the keys from the seat. ‘Fuck’

 

He stood there, staring at the keys in his hand till Cas came up next to him. ‘So.’ Cas said heavily. ‘he has gone, and left the car here.’

 

Cas closed his eyes. ‘This is not good.’ He shook his head. ‘If I understand it, he’s left his phone and left his car. Both the ways that you use to track him. I cannot find him with the Enochian symbols. Though I may eventually be able to find him through the Mark, and it’s resonance as it’s power increases. But, that would not be easy. And nor would we want it to be. If the evil increases enough for me to trace it, it will have had to overpower Dean’s essence.’

 

Sam just stared at the keys. Finally, he pocketed them. ‘Did you read the stuff about the Mark?’ he rasped.

 

‘Yes.’ Cas replied, ‘Unfortunately, I can add nothing to the information noted. I concur that the Mark _should_ have killed, or at least altered Dean immediately. I remain in awe that he has retained himself.’ He shook his head. ‘regardless. As you said, what is done, cannot be undone. We can only go forward. You truly believe he will undertake the trials?’

 

‘Yeah. I do.’ Sam answered wearily.

 

‘Very well.’ Cas answered. ‘We know what the 3 tasks are. To kill a hellhound, a relatively simple task for Dean, then-‘

 

‘Simple?!’ Sam barked ‘Simple? Do you _know_ how scared Dean is of dogs now?’

 

Cas just looked at Sam a long moment. ‘I do actually. I am also aware that Dean has never allowed his fear to keep him from a task. The hound is not a trial of concern to me. I have every faith that Dean can accomplish that, especially with the knowledge you gained from the tablet.’

 

‘Yeah?’ Sam sneered. ‘And just how often is there ever only ONE hound? How’s he gonna find a hound? Either track someone who’s made a deal, which is always 2 or 3 of them or summons a demon to bring him one.’

 

A flicker of doubt entered Cas’ expression, but he went on. ‘In any case, we know the first trial, the hound. It is the second trial that honestly concerns me the most. Rescuing the soul from Hell. How did you find your way into Hell Sam? You went through Purgatory. I do not believe you understand the influence Purgatory had on Dean. I fear what returning there may do to him. And that aside, entering Hell itself while _Marked_? That Mark resonates evil Sam. If he enters Hell bearing that Mark it will call to every demon nearby. Cain may have been able to suppress it after centuries of influence. But Dean is not a demon warlord, nor has he borne it very long. There will be no stealth while bearing that Mark. Not in Purgatory, and _certainly_ not in Hell. He will have to fight for every step. Or, they will flock to him in reverence, attempting to make him their leader. Either scenario is not one I would care to see Dean subjected to. We MUST find him before he tries to enter Hell.’

 

‘Sure.’ Sam huffed. ‘Except he’s ditched his phone and left the Impala. He obviously doesn’t want to be found. AND if there is anyone who knows how to go off the grid, it’s Dean.’ He started back into the bunker.

 

‘Yes. But as you told me, you know Dean. You know how he thinks. If he wanted to hide from you, while undergoing the trials, what would he do?’ Cas followed Sam into the kitchen.

 

Sam made a fresh pot of coffee while he thought, then grabbed his laptop and went back to the library tables.

 

‘Well, he’d lose the credit cards, go cash only. But he’d pull the cash from them to bank on. So we should at least be able to get a starting point from the cards he used…..

 

0000

 


	6. Chapter 6

0000 6

 

Sam closed his laptop with a sigh, and slammed back the whiskey left in his tumbler. He grimaced at the burn and twisted the glass on the table top a few times before shoving it across the table and turning to Cas.

‘Well, he drained the three missing cards at the bus depot. He had to know I would trace that, so he didn’t’ care. Looks like he hopped a bus to Chicago. I’ve got surveillance of his boarding the bus to Chicago, then leaving that depot this morning. But honestly? From there – his next stop could be anywhere.

‘Do you think a case influenced his choice of Chicago.?’ Cas asked quietly.

‘No. I couldn’t find any leads on any cases in Chicago. I have no idea why he chose Chicago, but it’s a big place Cas. If he had the Impala? Maybe I could track him. It’s distinctive. Which is exactly why he left it here, I’m sure.’

Sam rubbed his temples. ‘I dunno Cas. I just don’t know.’

‘Well,’ Cas said, ‘Let’s look at it like you would a case. You know the 3 steps of the trials. Hound, Soul, Demon. We’ve discussed the ways of finding the hound. Finding a demon is obvious. How would Dean go about finding the soul?’

Sam huffed, then stretched, laying his head back and looking at the ceiling. ‘Well, figure an innocent soul wont be a shanghaied one like Bobby. It’ll be someone who made a deal for someone else, like Hudson saving his wife. But Cas,’ Sam sighed ‘Even if we track one of those down, there’s no way to know Dean will pick the same one’

‘That’s irrelevant Sam, and not what I meant.’ Cas said firmly. ‘If Dean enters Hell. He will never make it to the chosen soul. And that is assuming he survives Purgatory to even get to Hell. What I actually meant was how will Dean find a way into Hell to search for the soul he intends to rescue? I understand Crowley put a stop to the smugglers after your visit. So how will Dean think to get there?’

Sam thought for a minute, then sat up. ‘If he can’t get a deal to get a way in then he’ll probably go for the portal.’ Sam frowned. ‘Can he open the portal from this side?’ he asked

‘Unknown.’ Cas said, ‘Nonetheless, it is a place to start. Where is the portal located Sam?’

‘ugh. Somewhere in Maine.’ Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I was pretty out of it by the time we’d tangled with Naomi and released Bobby. After the spell that time I was almost exhausted. Dean got me back to the car and on our way. I didn’t really pay attention.’ He sighed, ‘well, at least I can figure out why Chicago.’ He sat forward, and opened the laptop.

‘St. Louis would have been too early by bus. He got into Chicago just after ten am. I bet he was trying to time it so the cheap car lots would be open and he could find a cheap ride. I bet he bought some junker there and then headed up to Maine.’

‘Bought a car?’ Cas seemed genuinely confused.

‘Yeah. If he’s running under the radar, he wont steal one. Too much chance of being pulled over and me finding him. He had enough cash from the cards he could get a halfway decent used car. Especaily if he plans to just go thru the trials. He wont have to drive all over, just get himself to Maine and make a base camp there.’

Sam stood and headed to his room to grab his duffle. ‘He’s got a good head start on us, but he lost lots of time with that bus ride. Buses are slow and make lots stops. We can make good time, heading straight there. And with two drivers. Now, we just gotta piece together where that portal is. Somewhere in the woods in western Maine……’

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

0000 7

 

As the miles rolled by, Dean grew more and more frustrated with himself for not paying more attention before buying this POS excuse for a car. Sure, it had decent enough horsepower, climbing the hills well enough, but what the heck had he been thinking not checking the sound system? Definitely a requirement for someone spending too much time on the road. You could only sing to yourself for so long, and with no music to keep him occupied, Dean couldn’t stop himself from thinking.

 

He tried to stay focused on what he had to do, what he hoped to do, how he was gonna do it.... but his mind kept replaying Sam’s frustrated voice from their ‘discussion’, and the last few days, in his head ‘I’m just being honest… And _that,_ is the problem.... you’re afraid of being alone…. You convince yourself in your head you’re doing the right thing, but you’re not.... No Dean I wouldn’t’

 

The speech looped over and over. Then, Dean’s brain helpfully tossed other memories at him:

 

That night in the asylum so long ago. Sam’s point blank shots as the chamber clicked empty. Each click from the attempted shot piercing Dean’s heart. ....

 

The Siren fiasco and Sammy’s ‘you’re worthless, holding me back... I’m a better hunter than you....’ Sam could kid himself all he wanted about the Siren ‘making’ him say stuff, but every word out of Dean’s mouth that night had been honest. Frustrated, angry, sad... stuff he wouldn’t have probably said aloud to Sammy, but honest....

 

Soulless Sam watching, that little smirk on his face as Dean was turned in that alleyway....

 

Dean sighed and shook that memory off real fast.

 

So what? Sam was right, Dean didn’t like being alone. He’d admit that in his own head. Hell, he’d said it out loud lots of times, ‘I can’t do this alone Sammy.’ ‘need you with me Sammy’ ‘There is no me without you.’

 

No, he didn’t _like_ being alone, but damned if he _couldn’t be._ It wasn’t about not being alone. Hell, he’d been alone even when surrounded by people, even when Sam was with him. It was about not letting Sammy go, not losing Sam.

 

He’d made Sam into an angel condom, knowing Sam wouldn’t want it, would hate him for it later. Kevin was gone, dead, by Sam’s hand – even if that hand had been wielded by the dick Angel – all because Dean couldn’t let Sam go. Sam couldn’t even call them brothers, family, anymore, could hardly stand even working with him as hunters, for business.

 

‘No Dean, I wouldn’t.’ Sam’s face as he’d said that. So tired, so .... fed up.

 

Well, Sam was set up pretty good in the bunker. They hadn’t even explored it all yet, but those Men of Letters had a library that would keep Sam busy for the rest of his life. There was a supply room that could keep a coven in spells for years, and an ancient shouldn’t even work for heaven’s sake, computer that tracked who knew what. Yeah. Sam was set.

 

He’d probably figured out Dean’s runner by now, but it didn’t matter. Even if he knew Dean was gone, he wouldn’t care anyway. Hell, he’d only taken Dean back after Dean had swallowed his fucking pride and practically begged. Sam woulda been happy for them to keep their separate ways. Fick, Dean shoulda just left it alone. At least then he could still told himself things were gonna work out and Sam’d get over it eventually.

 

Dean sighed and grit his teeth feeling a rush of anger. Goddamn Sam and his holier than thou, prissy fucking attitude. Dean gripped the steering wheel tight and took a deep breath. He was gonna have to pull off at Cleveland for gas, maybe he could find somewhere he could get some kind of radio for this piece of shit car. It was a waste of money, but he’d had all the silence he could stand.

 

He glanced at his watch. He’d left Chicago just after noon. It was pushing 630 now. He stretched as well as a man can stretch behind the wheel, shook his head and grabbed his cell phone. He searched out a Biggerson’s in Cleveland. He might as well get a burger and figure out his next step.

 

Dean could not believe his luck. For some reason, things had suddenly come up roses for him. He’d found a Biggerson’s right on the outer circle of a mall. In the same outer circle area was a gas station and auto parts store. One that sold stereos.

 

It almost made him want to keep driving instead of stopping. Almost. But he’d had all the silence a man could take.

 

Dean felt completely justified in the $120.00 he spent on the car stereo. And bless Sammy and his need to constantly ‘trying to drag you into the 21st Century Dean’ lectures. This one had one of those input jacks so Dean could play music from his phone or whatever.

 

Over the last year or two, Dean had finally had to admit the life expectancy of his cassette collection was in jeopardy and had let Sam convince him to get CDs of his albums. He’d still recorded them onto cassettes so he could play them in Baby (no one was gonna douche her up and put in a CD player, unless it became absolutely unavoidable - she was a classic thank you very much) but he had downloaded the CDs into his computer. CDs were touchy, like going back to record album LPs. Scratch em and they were worthless. So, each time Sammy came back from a truck stop with a new Metallica CD or some AC/DC, Dean would rip the sucker into the computer first thing. Then, he left the CDs in the fancy schmansy CD rack in the library.

 

He knew, eventually, he’d have to switch out Baby’s stereo with one like this one. Cassettes were getting really hard to find anymore. But they lasted forever, and he’d only recorded the last set within the last year. He had a while to worry about it.

 

Anyway, this stereo had the auxillary jack, so while Dean enjoyed his flame grilled burger, extra onions and cheese, and his freakin awesome pecan pie, he transferred as much music as he could into his SD card for this phone.

 

After dinner, he topped off the gas tank, then figured ‘Fuck it’ and decided to look for a hotel. He wasn’t on a schedule any more than he had been. And fuck if Crowley hadn’t been draggin ass lately on the let’s gank Abaddon mission. He could take his time and do this his way.

 

He’d grabbed one of those truck bed toolboxes and the stuff for a tune up and oil change while at the parts store too. He hadn’t been thinking clear for all his planning earlier. Heading out on a long road trip, there were just some things you had to take care of. Especially with this car being an unknown, not like his Baby where he knew to the day when each last bit of maintenance was done.

 

He set to work on the stereo in the hotel parking lot while there was still some daylight left, and was happy with how fast everything switched out. Once it was all set up, he did the tune up and oil change, then took a good look at the tires and the rest of the car. There was surprisingly more storage room behind the seats than he’d expected and he was able to stash some of the gear there he’d had lashed down in the bed under the tarp. There was only room enough left for the duffle back there, but that was fine. He’d rather have the snacks and his backpack up front with him anyway. The small generator and chainsaw fit into the toolbox bolted into the truckbed, and he padlocked it up.

 

Dean took his duffle and backpack into the hotel room, dropped both on the bed away from the door, then salted the doorway and hit the shower. He’d stretch out, do some research and rack 5 hours or so then get back on the road. With him driving solo, he’d have to watch it more. Yeah, the Mark meant he didn’t need sleep as much, but driving for too many hours solo still made you numb, and he didn’t need to run off into a ditch because he’d let himself go into zombie mode.

 

Dean spent some time getting his emails and such all set up on the new phone, then started the oh so much fun task of trying to search out a deal that could point him toward a sucker soul stuck in hell for all the wrong reasons. Three hours later, he sat back and stretched his back over the back of the wooden chair. He had three, maybe four possible (if he squinted) leads, and a more burning determination to do a summoning to get a demon lackey to call the hound.

 

No fucking way was he gonna track down some idiot, probably hundreds of miles back the other damn way, and wait for the hounds to come calling. He’d figure out a soul that was already trapped and get a hound from a crossroads whore right there in Maine close to the portal. Two birds, one stone. Maybe even three birds if he could convince the demon to open the portal too.

  
Dean felt a shiver of anticipation/anger/desire at the thought of ‘convincing’ the summoned demon to obey. He clenched his fists. Okaaay, he was frustrated, and a bit pissed off about things, but he hadn’t thought of ‘methods of persuasion’ with that little shiver of ‘oh yeah’ for quite some time.

 

He ran a hand over his face. He was tired, even with the Mark. He glanced at the clock. It was pushing 1am. He’d not slept since the last night of the fucking ‘fish taco’ thing case and was running on what? Almost 4 days now? Yeah, time for some rack time.

 

He shut down the computer and muted his phone. Checking the salt lines, he hung his overshirt and jeans on the back of the chair, slipped his boots under it, and crawled in the bed in his t-shirt and boxers. Things would be clearer in the morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. 8

0000 8

 

Dean came awake to the uncomfortable feeling of someone else in the room. He lay still a moment, aware of the room around him, not giving away his wakefulness. He listened a bit, then finally a sound clued him in to who else was there. A huff of impatience, followed by an annoyed sigh. He allowed himself a mental eye roll, then turned over to take in the body sitting on the other bed.

Sam sat there, bitchface #5 firmly in place. The one that says ‘you’re an idiot Dean, and I can’t decide if I wanna be worried about you or pissed at you.’

Dean sat up, running a hand through his hair. ‘well, son, I’m impressed. I figured I had at least a week before you tracked me down.’ The bitchface slid securely into #6, straight up ‘fuck you Dean.’

Dean sighed and got up to pour a cup of coffee. At least Sam’d had the decency to brew up the caffeine. ‘Whatta ya want Sammy? Figured you’d be glad to have me outta your hair. And how’d you track me here anyway?’

Sam just watched Dean as he poured a cup, drank half quickly, then refilled. As Dean took a seat at the small table by the window, Sam stood and started pacing. ‘Dammit Dean.’ He shook his head. ‘you’ve already brought me back, we’re working together again, getting things done. So what’s the point of taking off solo now, huh?’

He whirled around to face Dean and crossed his arms. ‘dramatic much? Leaving the Impala, ditching your phone. Was all this really necessary? If you don’t want to hunt together just tell me.’

‘Me.’ Dean deadpanned ‘If **_I_** don’t want to work together. Whatever, Mr. strictly business. You’re the one who set ‘terms’, who didn’t wanna be brothers, let’s keep it professional, be‘honest’ Mr. ‘What is the upside?’ So, I’m working my own hunt. And, _honestly,_ I don’t need back up. I’ve got this one covered. Go home.’

‘you’ve got it covered’ Sam said. ‘what are you gonna do Dean? What’s this hunt you’re working on then?’

‘Don’t matter Sammy. I got this. You go finish your book catalogue, inventory or whatever, and I’ll see you when I see you.’ Dean stood and refilled his mug, took a sip and sat it on the counter. He pulled out a clean tshirt from his duffle. ‘now, I’ve got places to be.’ He switched his shirts, and pulled out a pair of jeans.

As he turned to go into the bathroom, Sam’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm. ‘no Dean.’ Sam growled, ‘you’re not just gonna walk away. I know you’re pissed about our last conversation, but –‘

‘Sam.’ Dean said firmly, rigid, muscles tensing under Sam’s hand. ‘I’m not pissed, I’m done.’ He wrenched his arm free from Sam’s grip. ‘I am done. I did what I did, I saved you, then killed Kevin –‘

He slashed a hand sharply to cut off Sam’s comment before he could get started. ‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t go back, can’t change anything, so I go forward. But I’m going forward alone. Go home. Go hunt. Go somewhere. Just go away from me.’

 

He turned and went into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly even as everything in him wanted to slam the door off its hinges. He brushed his teeth and changed into the jeans, then came out to pack and get on the road, he’d figure things out in more detail when he stopped later for lunch somewhere, alone.

Part of him expected, hoped for, Sam to be gone, but he wasn’t really surprised he was still there, leaning against the counter, bitchface #3 glaring; the ‘I’m right and you’re gonna listen Dean’ face. Dean rolled his eyes, exaggeratingly, with feeling this time, and stepped around Sam to get to his duffle.

This time, when Sam grabbed at his arm, Dean countered quickly with his left and landed a solid right on Sam’s jaw. Man, that felt good. Sam looked at him with surprise for a minute, quickly morphing into narrow eyed anger, then swung back.

But Dean was ready. It was almost like Sam was moving thru molasses. This was an effect Dean had seen since he’d taken the mark. He was faster, quicker to read opponents, able to strategize and counter in a fight like he hadn’t been able to before, like he could _see_ faster or something.

Plus, with Sam, he already _knew_ how Sam fought. There was no one, ever, that he could telegraph better. Even when Sam got really pissed and stopped thinking, when he _should_ be unpredictable, he wasn’t. Not to Dean.

All of which meant Dean neatly sidestepped Sam’s responding punch, and those that followed, countering every punch instead with one of his own. With every strike that landed, Dean’s blood sang and his ire grew, from frustration at first to flat out anger.

Soon enough Dean wasn’t countering anymore because Sam wasn’t swinging anymore. And Dean wasn’t thinking any more, he was just feeling. Feeling annoyed. *punch* And frustration. *punch* And anger. And betrayal. And loss. And shame *punch* *punch* *punch*….

Dean’s vision cleared from the red haze that had overtaken him, and his heart skipped a beat, then another. His hands flew wide as he froze where he sat. Sat on Sam’s lap as Sammy lay there beneath him, bloody, unmoving…. Unmoving.

Dean watched for the time it took for him to start breathing again, long enough to realize Sam _wasn’t._ Breathing. Sammy wasn’t breathing. No. no no no. Dean’s bloody hands shook as he reached down to check for a pulse. With the shaking, he couldn’t tell… But Sam wasn’t breathing, he could tell that much.

He forced himself to slow his heartrate, stilled the trembling by will alone and reached down again. He methodically waited a full ten count before he tried again on the other side of Sam’s neck just to make sure. No. no pulse. No breathing….

He took in the odd angle of Sam’s jaw, the obviously broken cheek bone, and the bruising on Sam’s temple, darkening even as he watched, stunned.

No, no this just….no.

Sure, he got fed up with Sammy sometimes but…. No.

Dean backed away crawling backward until his back hit the wall. His blood turned to ice in his veins.

No. NO! this, this cant be happening.

His fingers threaded through his hair, blood running down the side of his face and his arms.

No. His throat closed up even as his breath started to come fast. He was panting now, but in choked gasps. No. No. nonononono…..

Dean shot up in the bed, panting, eyes wide, fists full of the blanket over him. He snapped his mouth shut, jaw clenched and looked around, frantic for a minute, before he figured out it had been a dream. He was still breathing hard as he lunged into the bathroom, just making it to the sink before he lost what was left of last night’s dinner.

After a minute, his knees gave out and he was heaving into the toilet instead.

Slowly, it tapered off and he was able to catch his breath. He slumped back against the tub, wiping at his face with the hand towel hanging above his head. He sat a minute with his head back, eyes closed, but it didn’t take long for the vision of a broken, bleeding Sam to paint the backs of his eyelids and his eyes flew open again.

He forced himself to his feet, then splashed some cold water on his face. He rinsed his mouth and the sink then looked into the mirror. He was pale, wild eyed and looking a bit freaked out. He took two deep breaths and forced himself to count to ten with his eyes closed. He deliberately brought to mind monster killing methods and preparation steps, forcible replacing the vision of broken, bloody Sam, until calm came over him.

He took one more deep breath, found his focus and looked into the mirror again. There. Dean Winchester. Hunter. Unfeeling bastard. Check.

Dean went ahead and jumped into the shower, then packed up. He opened a protein bar on the way to the lobby where he grabbed two strong black coffees and two muffins from the continental breakfast spread. Loot in hand, he made his way back to the Impala. He’d look at his notes and stuff later at a rest stop a couple hundred miles down the road, not back there in that hotel room.

. . . . . .

Three hours later, Dean was feeling much more in control. He’d shaken off the dream, wherever the fuck it came from, and worked his way through Zeppelin 2 and Pyromania and and then had shuffled the list so it was like having his own personal classic rock station with only songs HE wanted, none of those lame wanna be a classic rock song ones thrown in like on the radio. Huh. Guess Sammy had something there with this way of listening to the music, beat having to records mix tapes or switching out cassettes over and over….

Anyway, he was coming up on Buffalo, and definitely needed to top off the tank. May as well take a breather at a local diner and figure out some stuff.

Dean stopped at a station with a mini garage attached, and as the pump was running bought three ten gallon gas cans. For the generator, of course. Whatever. He filled all three and anchored them down in the bed. At least this way he wouldn’t have to stop as much for fucking gas. He could pull over, top her off, and keep going.

Maine was only another nine hours out. It was barely 1. He could grab a bite, sort out a plan while he had daylight and a table, and finish up this ride in one go. The thought of the table brought to mind his note to self, and after the gas finished, he stopped at another pawn shop on his way to find a diner.

Dean browsed the aisles, folding chair in hand. He grabbed the coleman lantern hanging with the fishing gear, figured what the hell, ya never know, and grabbed a pole too. As he came around the end of the aisle on his way to the register, his eyes lilt up. ‘Yahtzee!’

There was what he’d hoped to find, one of those folding camping tables, small enough to fit behind the seat, and a hell of a lot better than trying to work on the bed of the car with all the gear – not to mention the furrows in the bottom of the bed.

Grinning, Dean brought the gear to the register.

‘going campin?’ the clerk asked, with _astounding_ skills of observation. Dean bit his tongue to hold back the ‘no, powers out and I burned all the furniture’ smart ass retort he wanted to make and just nodded.

The clerk nodded too, then decided to show more of his blinding intelligence, ‘yup, fishing’s nice. Ya know, that pole don’t come with no tackle. You got whatcha need for that?’

Dean’s patience was thinning, as it did faster and faster lately when he had to deal with the general public and the idiots therein, ‘Look. Did I ask for tackle? I’m fine. Just ring up what’s there huh?’

The clerk looked a bit spooked by the almost harsh tone from Dean, but stood up straighter and finished the transaction without any more commentary. Thank fuck.

Dean grabbed the pole and lantern in one hand and the table and chair in the other, and made his way out to the car. He stowed everything, then stopped and took a breath, unclenching his jaw. What the hell? He felt like …. Like he wanted go three rounds with a revenant or something. Like he needed to _hit_ something, someone.

Dammit. He was actually having an adrenaline rush, he could feel it. He needed to blow off some steam in the worse way. And why? Cuz the local redneck asked him a fucking question?

He forced himself to calm, taking two more solid deep breaths. Just a few more hours driving and he’d be in the middle of nowhere. He could chop some wood then, to work off the testosterone, and set up camp so he could summons a crossroads whore at first light. Yeah.

Dean shook himself and got into the car. He seriously considered just skiping lunch and hitting the highway, but if he pushed through he’d be in bum-fuck nowhere tonight, and it’d be protein bars from then on out. Plus, if he stopped he could check some stuff out online before he was out of range. Fine.

He drove around the city a bit till saw the mall. Good enough. The food courts now days always had those charging areas where you could eat and plug in the laptop, may as well get the batter full now. And hell, if he was lucky there’d even be wi-fi. There was.

Dean set up the laptop at the table where he could have his back against the wall and booted up his email as he took a bite of the extra onions extra peppers philly steak sandwich. Gotta hand it to New York, they sure had flavor in the food. Even in small time Buffalo. Might not be the big apple, but they knew how to make a sandwich.

He went ahead and polished off the rest of it, savoring the rush of flavor in each bite. He let himself dwell just a bit and closed his eyes. Damn. If this all worked out like he planned, this could be the last actual food he ate. Protein bars definitely didn’t count as actual food….

He shoulda poked around till he could find a good cheeseburger, but really – steak, cheese, onions, peppers. This was almost a cheeseburger, just… different texture, that’s all.

Satisfied, Dean finished the sandwich and wiped his hands. He opened his email account and sure enough, there was Sammy’s what the hell subject line. Followed by what, seven more? Geez. If he was emailing then obviously he’d found the phone by now.

What is the point of sending so many emails? Just send one. Get to the point and that’s it. Damn Sam and his ‘talk it out’ bullshit. Dean huffed and opened the first one. Yep, basic what the hell 101. Why are you doing this? We need to talk about what you think you heard, etc etc.

What he thought he’d heard? How the hell do you mis-hear something spelled out so plain. ‘you shoulda let me die. I was ready to die. I’da let you die.’

He closed the email program with the others left unread. What was the point anyway? Sam had said his piece, and Dean’s piece for him in that last conversation. Dean knew where Sam stood, where Sam figured Dean stood, and enough was enough. No point in going over the same damn ground again and again. No, he’d heard just fine, thank you very much. And he wasn’t gonna buy into Sam’s guilt tripped ‘that’s not what I meant.’ And ‘let me explain’ crap this time.

His brief good mood at finding the camping table long gone, and steadily growing more restless, Dean polished off his onion rings and ditched the tray. He opened a new tab in the computer and again read through the three most likely prospects for idiots who’d sold themselves into hell.

He checked his watch. 12 or so hours left on the road, he figured he’d be in the general area by 3 am, latest. Set up camp, chop down a few trees to work off this urge he had to bust up the place (getting worse as people began to trickle into the food court area – swear to fucking God, one more gangster wanna be punk who cant pull up his own pants looks side eyed at him again, and Dean might just flip over a table or two on the way on just on general principle.)

Yeah, chop some wood. Set up the camp or fit out the cabin, depending on how things turned out, and he’d summon the demon bitch and (ha!) her bitch, at dawn. Get this show on the road. Gank the hound, bust up the demon bitch a bit, and get her to open the back door into Hell.

Hmmm… Dean stopped a minute. Could he perform the release spell there and set the soul free? He thought a minute about the spell and what he remembered from before. He opened a few files and read for a bit. There wasn’t anything _specific_ about location…. Maybe he’d find the first loser, umm… victim… on the list, and try the spell right off.

If it worked, great, step two done right off. Maybe he could ambush a demon (they’re everywhere in Hell, right?), hide out in the _victim’s_ cell, and do the cure all right there, not have to fight back thru purgatory and everything.

Well. He’d make sure to pack a few syringes for the trip just in case. If it worked, great. If not, fine, back to the main plan.

Satisfied with the plan in place, and calmed enough that he felt he could get out of this hell hole without clotheslining the wack jobs on the way out (what the fuck had he been thinking coming to a _mall food court_ of all places, shit) Dean packed up the laptop, tossed the drink cup and made for the closest exit.

He took semi deep breaths as he made his way back to the car. He knew, _knew,_ those guys hadn’t really been giving him the stink eye, he recognized the anger he felt had no basis and it had to be the mark or something pissing him off. But it didn’t matter. He was still … Really. Pissed. Off.

And he really, really wanted to hit someone, punch someone. Feel the cracking bones, the warm blood dripping from his fingers, hear the rasping, fast breath of pain, as they whimpered and begged….

Dean kicked the tire savagely as he approached the car. He’d take a swing too, but he had enough sense to know he’d just break his hand if he punched the car. He dropped the bag in and climbed behind the wheel. He’d have to hold on till he could get there to chop firewood. Only a few more hours. He had enough self control for that.

He was Dean fucking Winchester. He was NOT gonna let this, whatever the fuck this was, control him. NO ONE, NOTHING was gonna control him, no more. He was doing this on his terms, his way, in his time and fuck everything and everybody who tried to ….

Dean clenched his fists on the steering wheel, closed his eyes and gathered his will. Cold hearted hunter, fuck the world I’m right and I know what I’m doing. Breathe…unfeeling, selfish bastard. Check. Dean Winchester. Check.

He pulled out of the mall parking lot, onto the interstate, northeast…. He had work to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
